


Lucky Starr and the Dancers of the Moon

by Kahvi



Category: Lucky Starr - Isaac Asimov
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2015-09-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 07:33:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2994905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kahvi/pseuds/Kahvi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Lucky and Bigman decide to take a well-earned vacation on Luna, they inevitably get caught up in a mystery of Sirian spies, political intrigue, and the amazing Dancers of the Moon. And what of Lucky's sullen moods? Can Bigman find out what's bothering the young Councilman?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A WELL-DESERVED BREAK

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Roadstergal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roadstergal/gifts).



> Happy Holidays my dear - it is my solemn promise to have this finished for you before the new year. Much love!

'Night' had fallen on the Shooting Starr, and in its warm, protective bowels lay two men, one on top of the other, in that quiet, melancholy state just before sleep.

Bigman reclined on the bed, his narrowed eyes resting on the bottom of the bunk above, which housed his good friend Lucky Starr. It was 'late', in as far as it was far into the ship's designated sleep-period, but he found he could not sleep. "Lucky," he whispered, hoping his friend was still awake, "did you ever make it... you know, with a girl?"

Above him, the mattress creaked as Lucky stirred. "Why do you ask?"

Bigman shrugged. "No reason. I just figured, Earth being full of them and all, you'd've gotten some offers."

"I did." Lucky's voice was nicely neutral. "I wasn't interested."

"Oh."

Bigman was slowly digesting that when Lucky asked, casually, "have you?"

"What; me?" Bigman frowned, considering the idea. "Nah. They bring a shipment up once or twice a year, you know, but none of 'em ever go for the farmboys. There's only ever two or three of 'em. Say," he exclaimed, going down an avenue of thought he'd never visited before, "why is that, you think?"

The quiet chuckle that was Lucky's laugh planted its way down the metal of the bunk. Bigman 'heard' it with his whole body, and smiled along, even though he didn't get the joke. "Population control, Bigman. You ever heard of that?"

Bigman frowned again, the facts adding up in his mind. He had never really thought about things like this before, but, well, he had started to consider a lot of things he never had before, after meeting Lucky. "So if there aren't that many women in the colonies... say, that makes a lot of sense!"

There came a derisive snort from above. "Tell that to the women who want to be pilots, and engineers, and work for the Council of Science."

Trust Lucky to sober up a situation with a truth like that. Then again, he was right, wasn't he? "I suppose." Bigman brightened up in a grin. "When you put it like that, I'm sure glad you're not a girl, Lucky!"

For quite some time, Bigman waited for an answer, but none came. Just the regular breathing of a man lightly asleep, or too tired to talk. Taking the hint, Bigman turned out the light, and settled under the covers.

But he kept on thinking.

 

The next morning over breakfast, while their yeast-based rations were still steaming in the pleasantly cool room, Lucky cheerfully announced to Bigman that they were going to spend an entire week on the Moon. "We've been flitting from place to place for months. A little break might suit us well, don't you think?"

Scowling, Bigman set down his tray, and waved his spork at Lucky's entirely innocent-looking face. "Oh, no you don't." When Lucky looked all innocent like that, it was the surest sign that he was being less than honest. "Don't tell me Lucky Starr's suddenly planning a vacation. Something's up, and you're not planning to tell me about it, are you?"

Lucky swallowed a sporkfull of yeast mash, chewing it contemplatively. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"You enjoy this, don't you?"

Lucky looked up, his blue eyes blinking in what was to all appearances bafflement. "I'm sorry?"

"Keeping me in the dark. Not telling me things. It's like you get some twisted kick out of it."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous." He just kept moving food from his tray into his mouth, approaching it, as he did everything, like some careful scientific process of which he had complete control. Not for the first time, Bigman wondered if there was anything that could shatter that perfect control.

"Come on, Lucky!" Bigman shoved his tray aside, fuming in anger, his eyes wide, yet his friend remained completely unfazed.

"You'll see when we get there." Lucky said, simply.

Slumping back in his chair, defeated, Bigman shook his head. "You're something else, Lucky. You know that?"

Finishing the rest of his mash, then throwing the cutlery into the tray, and folding it up neatly, disposing of it in the receptacle in their table, Lucky smiled.

* * *

It was not Bigman's first visit to the Moon, but it counted among the third or fourth, and neither of those had been for sightseeing. It was something of a sight, the Luna Commercial Spaceport. Relative to the Moon's size, it was the largest in the solar system, and teeming with activity at any hour of the artificial, human-instigated Lunar 'day' or 'night'. Subdued, pulsing lights in different colors on the floor shuttled arriving and departing passengers to and fro, carefully navigating them around the many shops and information-stands offering cheap, low-quality walking-viewers, supposedly allowing you to view a tourist guide bookfilm and have enough vision to walk by at the same time. Bigman bumped into at least three such confused and dopey-looking tourists before they reached immigration.

Members of the Council of Science always kept a low profile, so even though Lucky could have waved an immigration official aside, flashed his wrist at him, and received a personal escort to a complimentary transport, he and Bigman patiently - or slightly less patiently, in Bigman's case - stood in line, waiting their turn. Getting a few minutes to himself like this, Lucky not being much for idle chit-chat, it struck Bigman that something seemed off about the place. Which was absurd; he'd only been there once or twice before, and he wasn't good with remembering what he considered to be unimportant details. Still... There was something about the mood, he decided, watching the crowds run back and forth along the criss-crossing lines. As they neared the identification-booth, Bigman glanced at Lucky. This was no vacation, all right. Something was up, and if Lucky wouldn't tell him, Bigman would find out for himself!

The man in the booth raised a lazy eyebrow at them, and Lucky gave him a prefunctionary smile, handing their papers over. Bigman realized he'd never even noticed that Lucky had taken his passport.

* * *

When the shuttlecar stopped off at Tranquility Plaza, Bigman was almost taken in by doubt again - it was hard to imagine secret Science Council business being conducted with this venerable hotel as a base. Then again, that was precicely the sort of thing Lucky would be likely to do. Unless... Bigman stopped on the elaborate, plexi-glass doorstep, grabbing his suitcase tightly with sudden excitement; unless Lucky had taken that into account, and was pulling some sort of elaborate bluff... in which case there really was something going on, and...

"Enjoy your stay at Tranquility Plaza," the doorman greeted him, cheerfully.

"I may have to," Bigman grumbled, to the man's considerable confusion.

* * *

"You could have taken the man up on his offer," Bigman chided, when the bellboy finally left them to themselves. It had taken nearly half an hour to persuade the young man to go back to his boss and inform him that Lucky Starr of the Science Council had politely declined his generous offer of a free stay.

Lucky's suitcase opened with a 'snap' as he drew his thumb across the fingerprint-lock. He shook his head. "It's not the done thing."

Bigman's own suitcase was jammed under his bed, on the other side of the enormous room. Back on Mars, accommodation like this would have housed at least half a dozen farmboys; a full if you put two men to a bunk. He sat down on the bed, enjoying the novel bounce of the springs. "I hope he’s not gonna take it out on that kid; he didn’t look old enough to tie his own shoes. Anyway, what’s the big deal; he was just trying to be nice. You wouldn't refuse a birthday-present, would you?"

"I would, if the giver were skirting bankruptcy."

“Aw, c’mon Lucky; look at this place!”

Pausing in the middle of folding a shirt, Lucky cocked an eyebrow. “Yes, exactly. Look at this place. The most renowned hotel on the Moon.” He gestured, clearly wanting Bigman to get some point or other, but Bigman couldn’t see what there was to be got.

“So?”

“So, how many people did you see in the lobby?”

Bigman paused, trying to bring back the mental image. It was like the spaceport; he was never very good with recalling unimportant details. “I don’t know. Maybe ten – fifteen?”

“Exactly!”

And as if that explained everything, Lucky turned his attention back to his shirt. They didn’t need to be folded, anyway; the fibers in the fabric resisted creases automatically, but Bigman didn’t think Lucky was folding them because they needed it. “I don’t get it,” he said, looking at the shirts as much as Lucky.

Sighing, Lucky closed the suitcase, and sat down next to it. “What do you suppose drives the Moon economy?” Before Bigman could answer, Lucky threw out a hand, indicating the room around them. “Tourism! It was man’s first foothold in space, filled with historic locations. The cost of living is cheap, and travel is easy.”

Slowly, Bigman nodded. “Must be a great romantic getaway too, with all those ancient stories and songs about it.”

“Yes,” Lucky said, hurriedly, opening the suitcase again, and taking the rest of the clothes out, unceremoniously, “that too. In any case, tourism has thrived. Until recently.”

“What’s happened recently?”

“Well, you can imagine.” With a press of his finger, Lucky’s case contracted into a flat, limp sheet. He folded it up, and put it under his own bed. “Now that the other colonies are well on their way to being established, interest is waning. People from Earth would rather see the seas of Venus, or the vistas of Mars, and people from the colonies who travel as far as the Moon feel they might as well go all the way to the mother planet. Earth,” he added, seeing Bigman’s frown.

“Oh, Earth.” Bigman snorted. “What’s to see there?”

Lucky gave a quick smile. “Plenty, if you’re not a pathologically patriotic Martian. Anyway, you can see the results for yourself. If this trend can’t be turned around, the Moon’s economy is in serious danger.”

The spaceport, Bigman thought. That’s what had bothered him about the spaceport. Even from when they’d been there last, the decrease in travelers had been noticeable. “So that’s why we’re here? To help the Moon’s economy by taking a vacation?”

The smile stayed this time, as Lucky tousled Bigman’s hair. “Something like that, my friend. Something like that.”

Bigman didn’t trust him any more than a broken nosepiece in a sandstorm.


	2. THE DANCERS

The Armstrong Memorial Theater was just a few blocks away from the Tranqulity Plaza. Bigman was beginning to see Lucky's point - on their way over, they had passed several half-empty restaurants, and the famous Landing Site museum, which seemed to be in the process of closing early. As they approached the large, metallic-sided building, Bigman picked at his new suit, disliking the way it rubbed against his body in unfamiliar ways. Lucky had bought it for him, so assuredly it would be finest quality, but Bigman had never really had much use for formal clothing. He could count on one hand the number of times he had worn it, and none of them had been by choice, before. In actual fact, he wasn't quite so sure that it had been voluntary this time either. Lucky had a way of making you do things and thinking it was your idea to do them all along.

There was a sudden jab at his side. Bigman spun around in time to see Lucky's retreating elbow. "Don't fidget," he grinned. "You look great."

"That's easy for you to say," Bigman grumbled. "You're used to dressing up all swank. It looks normal to you."

"Well, I'm glad I managed to persuade you to drop the boots, for once."

"Honestly, I have no idea how you did." He really didn’t. He could vaguely remember a discussion about colors and hemlines and city streets, and suddenly he'd been wearing these ridiculous things. He scowled at his feet, which were clad in form-fitting charcoal grey so-called 'boots'. "These things wouldn't even reach above the knee on a toddler! And grey, Lucky - grey! What sort of a person walks around with colorless boots?"

Lucky laughed, pulling at Bigman's uncomfortably long sleeve. "Come on. I got us good seats, but they're in the middle of the row. You don't want to have to apologize for stepping on people's toes in those things, do you?" Cheerfully, without waiting, he hurried along towards the entrance.

Swearing under his breath, Bigman followed.

* * *

The theater, in startling contrast to the rest of the downtown area, was packed with people. The effect was sudden, and almost a little nauseating. Bigman grabbed Lucky's arm, automatically, and felt Lucky move a little closer in unspoken support. He wasn't afraid, of course - John Bigman Jones held precious few fears - but seeing so many people in one place was more than a little disconcerting for someone who had grown up on a sparsely populated planet. At least everyone seemed to be wearing the same sort of thing as he and Lucky were; loosely fitting, yet carefully tailored suits in various – as Bigman saw it – dull, washed out colors.

A waiter came up to them with a tray of drinks – Lucky declined and Bigman accepted, eagerly. There wasn't much of a taste of alcohol in it, but he liked the flavor, and the bubbles tickled the back of his throat, pleasantly. Another waiter took the glass from his hand as they entered the theater itself, and out of the corner of his eye, Bigman noticed something else; among the somber-looking, neatly dressed patrons were one or two women. He wanted to nudge Lucky's side and point them out to him, but etiquette when it came to these things was a point of confusion for him, and he erred on the side of caution. It probably wasn't all that odd, anyway; some of the more prominent officials on the Moon were bound to have wives, it stood to reason. It did make him wonder what sort of an occasion they were here for. Lucky had, as usual, not been terribly informative. Bigman decided to give it one more shot. "So what are we here for, anyway? What's the grand occasion?"

Lucky had found the right row, and motioned for Bigman to follow him into it. "You'll find out soon enough," he smiled, making his way towards the middle. A few people were already seated, and Bigman became, suddenly, acutely aware of his inadequate boots.

"So you keep saying. Sorry," he added to an elderly and distinguished-looking male couple, who glared at him as he pushed past them. Ahead of him, Lucky had already found his place, and was patting the seat next to him. Bigman hurried onwards, grateful that the remainder of the way was free of obstacles.

The other seats filled up rather quickly, and nearly before everyone was seated, loud, impressive music started up. Bigman had been surprised to see there was an actual orchestra - not just a holographic representation. Clearly, the big guns were out for this thing, whatever it was. He found himself too preoccupied with trying to figure out what they were going to see that he nearly missed the compeer coming on stage, and snapped back into reality in the middle of his introduction.  
"...but tonight, gentlemen and honored ladies," he sought out the women in the audience and nodded to each one, solemnly, "we have the pleasure of presenting for you an entirely new art form, developed and perfected right here on the Moon."

There was careful, sparse applause. For the first time, it struck Bigman that the other audience members might be just as clueless about the performance as he was.

"Thank you, thank you. Now, you have all been very patient with us about the unfortunate need for secrecy surrounding this project, but I hope you will find, after tonight's performance, that it was well worth it. And so, without further ado, I present to you..." he moved quickly to one side of the stage and raised his arm dramatically, "the incredible dancers of the Moon!"

The music swelled, then died down as the shimmering holographic curtain blinked out of existence, leaving only a blank, black stage. A single, dull spotlight highlighted nothing at all, until a short, slender-looking man stepped into it. Bigman narrowed his eyes. The man didn't seem like anything out of the ordinary. His back was very straight, and his dark hair exceptionally long and flowing. He had a pale and narrow, angular face, and piercing blue eyes which contrasted deeply with his dark brows and hair. But if the man was unusual-looking, it was nothing compared to his costume. Layers of various light, white fabrics seemed to be randomly placed around his body. Bigman, who knew a little something about moving quickly and elegantly, was just about to lean over and whisper to Lucky how on Mars this guy thought he was going to dance in that outfit, when the music started up again, abruptly, with the quiet hum Bigman recognized immediately as that of an A-grav engine accompanying it. He wasn’t too good with sounds, but he could tell one vibration from another anywhere. All at once, the figure took flight, and Bigman realized his mistake - the long, flowing robes floated aside to reveal the tightly catsuited body of a woman.

Awestruck, Bigman leaned back in his seat, following the figure with his eyes. In zero-gravity, most people looked slightly absurd; even trained spacemen didn’t exactly seem elegant when maneuvering around in weightlessness. Not this woman. She _swam_ through the air like a… a mermaid, that was the word; half-woman, half fish. Bigman felt like a fool for ever having mistaken her for a man, but, well, the idea had just been so far from his mind. Female performers, here? What a concept! As she moved, her robes flowed around her, now clearly in the element they were designed for. The music changed character as from the wings, six other forms – three from each side – came floating into view, each clad in a different color. Red, purple, yellow, green – all flowed together and around one another, spiraling around themselves, trailing flimsy fabric. From the sounds surrounding him, Bigman could tell that the rest of the audience was as spellbound as himself; hushed whispers mixing with quiet exclamations of awe. Well, most of them, that was.

Somewhere in the upper balcony, a voice cried, “perversity!” But not loud enough to drown out the murmurs of approval, and quiet laughter following the statement. Bigman smiled to himself. There were always the crazies. Some men moved to the colonies just so they wouldn’t have to deal with women. If that guy was one of them, he’d be bound to feel pretty sore now. Served him right.

One by one, the dancers descended to the floor, barely touching it with the tips of their toes, as if they were walking. “Hey,” Bigman whispered, more to himself than anyone else, “will you look at that?” He was about to turn towards Lucky with a smile, when the underlying vibration suddenly stopped, and a scream of terrified anguish rose up from the stage. Lucky was on his feet in no time, rushing up the steps to the raised A-grav platform. The white-dressed dancer was cradling her foot, her face a mask of agony. All over the theater, people were rising, gasping, chattering amongst themselves in confusion. Within moments, Lucky had finished talking to the graceful brunette, and walked towards the edge of the stage.

“LISTEN, EVERYONE,” he yelled, in that sober, commanding voice he managed so well. “Remain calm. Do NOT leave the theater – it has now been declared an official crime scene by the Science Council.” There were a few impressed murmurs on hearing this. Bigman felt his usual mingling of pride for Lucky, and pain that he himself was not officially a full member of the Council, as much as they insisted otherwise.

From the back of the room, someone shouted; “what’s going on? What sort of crime scene?”  
Bathed in the spotlight, Lucky’s face looked grimmer than Bigman had ever seen it. “Murder,” he said, calmly. “Attempted murder.”


	3. THE INVESTIGATION

Contacting the Lunar branch of the Council had been a simple matter, given that most of the members had been in the audience. A makeshift base of operations had been set up in the backstage area, where Lucky and two other Council members were currently going through the witnesses one by one. Bigman had stayed for the first few hours, but had tired quickly of the repetition, and relocated to the front of the stage, where the dancers milled about, restlessly. Every interview had been the same; did you see or hear anything suspicious or out of the ordinary before or during the performance, were you aware of what was going to be performed here tonight, can you think of anyone who would want to harm the performers – and the answer was always an endless variation of 'no' to every question. Bigman couldn't see what good it would do.

There was no need to establish what had happened. The a-grav plate allowing the dancers to enter a state of weightlessness had been switched off, abruptly and without notice. The fact that no one had been badly injured was sheer serendipity; at any other time, the dancers would have been high above ground level, and a fall could easily have killed them all. The a-grav controls were located below the stage, and the dancers claimed the routine was improvised, and random. Whomever had thrown the switch could not have known that the dancers were relatively safe at the moment gravity returned, which is why Lucky had pronounced it attempted murder. But who would want to murder a group of dancers? Female dancers, at that?

Bigman watched the women, who all looked slightly out of place and confused. Bigman didn't blame them. The injured one – Daliah, he had heard the others call her – had been taken away to get medical attention after a quick interview. Without her, the others didn't seem to know what to do with themselves, and kept pacing, never sitting down for more than a minute or so in the same place. With their many-colored costumes, they looked a little like flustered birds.

It was strange, really, seeing so many of them in the same place. Women, that was. Of course, there were plenty of women on Earth, and Bigman saw them there all the time. But it was different, in a way he couldn't quite explain, seeing them here. Before he'd come to Earth, Bigman had seen about ten or fifteen women his entire life, and he'd only talked to three or four out of those. Women didn't come to the colonies, and that was the way it was. He caught the eye of the girl in orange; she was short, and auburn-haired, and seemed a little calmer than the rest of them. She looked back at him with a steady gaze, and it made Bigman nervous. Blushing, he thought of the guy who yelled "perversity," and tried to pull himself together. He didn't want to start thinking like any of those crazies.

The girl walked closer, a curious look on her face. She really was quite pretty, in a book-film-heroine sort of way, with a button nose, and hazel eyes. When she sat down next to him, Bigman gave a friendly smile. "Hey," he said, maintaining casualness with some effort, "I'm sorry about your friend." He held out his hand in greeting. "I'm John Jones. People call me Bigman."

The girl looked him up and down with questioning eyes, ignoring his hand. "I’m Kaya,” she said. “You're quite short, aren't you?"

Gaping, Bigman barely had time to blink before any further conversation was interrupted by a shrill yell of; "I will not be treated in his way!" The voice was coming from the interview room, where Lucky was.

"Excuse me," Bigman mumbled, and in a flash, he was up, and running.

* * *

Bigman had never seen the man's face, but he recognized the voice; it was the cobber who had made his moral objections clear during the show. He was currently engaged in a staring contest – which he would obviously lose – with Lucky, his face a fierce shade of crimson.

"You have no right to hold me here," the man yelled. "I've done nothing wrong, nor have any of these fine, Lunar citizens. The only crime committed here tonight was that we were forced to witness women being put on display! Why; I lack the words to even describe this… this…"

"Perversity?" Lucky asked, one eyebrow raised just a fraction of an inch.

"Are you mocking me, Mister Starr?"

"That's Councilman Starr," Lucky replied, calmly, "and no, I'm not. We're not out to mock anyone. All we want is to ascertain what has happened."

"A malfunction, obviously," the man spat out, turning away from Lucky's steady gaze.

Bigman tried his best not to grin at his pathetic defeat. "Is there any trouble here?" He asked, crossing his arms over his chest in a way that made his sinewy muscles a visible threat even under the fancy suit.

"No trouble, Bigman," Lucky replied, evenly. "Mister Langstrøm here was just executing his law-given right to refuse interrogation pending criminal charges. Now, if you'll just have a seat, Mister Langstrøm, we'll have someone escort you home."

"That won't be necessary," Langstrøm snapped. "I'll see myself out." And with that, he turned, abruptly, and marched out.

Bigman sidled closer, motioning for Lucky to lean in towards him. "Are you sure that's wise?" He asked, when Lucky did. "I wouldn't trust the cobber as far as I could throw him."

"That would be quite some way, in this gravity," Lucky smirked. Bigman kicked his ankle.

"I'm serious! His face was as red as a Martian sunset. I can't imagine why anyone would want to hurt those innocent girls, but if it was anyone, it'd be him. You heard what he said, earlier."

Lucky shook his head. "He's a fanatic, Bigman. All the colonies have them, and they all have one thing in common; they're all talk, and no action. He wouldn't have the guts to try anything serious."

"If you say so," Bigman said, doubtfully. "I still think it's wrong to just let him go like that."

"They'll get to him," Lucky reassured him. "He can be charged with obstructing justice if he keeps refusing to co-operate. That law he's hiding behind wasn't intended for murder investigations." He gave Bigman a quick smile, then nodded to the Councilmen next to him. "All right, men; let's get the next one in here."

* * *

It was well past midnight, Earth Standard Time when they got back to the hotel. Lucky had admonished Bigman to get back earlier, but Bigman had refused, knowing that if he left, it would just give Lucky an excuse to keep at it longer. As it was, they got through the entire audience and some of the crew, while the dancers were escorted to their hotel under police guard. They would be interviewed more thoroughly in the morning, when everyone had a clear head.

"I'm sorry," Lucky sighed, stretching out on his bed, fully clothed, "this hasn't exactly turned out to be the break I promised you."

Bigman shook his head. "Nuts to that, Lucky. You know I only get bored when nothing happens, anyway."

Lucky smiled, waving a hand dismissively. He was about to reply when the picturephone in the corner started giving off an insistent ring. Lucky and Bigman exchanged glances. They did not need to speak to know what the other was thinking; they had told no one that they were coming here. Frowning, Lucky rose from the bed, and strode over to make contact. As the picture came into focus, both he and Bigman gasped. The face on the screen was that of Hector Conway.

"Uncle Hector," Lucky exclaimed.

Conway smiled, in a way Bigman could only describe as 'benevolently'. He liked Conway, but there was something larger-than-life about him; being around the man, you tended to get the feeling that you were there by his leave. "Good evening, Lucky. I trust I did not wake you or Bigman." He nodded in Bigman's direction, and Bigman became overly conscious of his outfit again. Just when he'd managed to forget about it. He got a sudden urge to shower.

"Not at all," Lucky replied. He sounded easy-going enough, but Bigman could tell he was a little on edge. No wonder, with the night they'd just had. "What can we do for you?"

Conway looked momentarily confused. "What do you mean? Didn't you get my message?"

Confusion carried over to Lucky's face. "What message? We didn't get any message, did we, Bigman?" Bigman shook his head, watching Conway carefully.

"Oh." Baffled, the Chief Councilman continued. "I sent you an urgent message yesterday. I transmitted it to the Shooting Starr, but it must have arrived just as you did. At any rate, it does not matter."

"What was the message?"

"To travel to the Moon immediately." Conway smiled, briefly. "So, you see, it does not matter." He muttered, "a strange co-incidence, though…"

Bigman was tired, with a growing urge to get out of his unfamiliar suit. Though he could only see his back from this angle, it was obvious to Bigman that Lucky felt the same way, despite not sharing Bigman's hatred for formal clothing. He wished Conway would stop dallying about, and get to the point. Apparently the Councilman caught on to their mood, and waved a hand dismissively.

"I'm sorry; I'll get to the point. It's been a long day here at headquarters. Well, a long 36 hours, I should say. Lucky, the fact of the matter is, they've found a Sirian ship."

Both Lucky and Bigman jumped; Bigman off the bed where he'd been seated, Lucky taking a step towards him. "What?" Lucky exclaimed. "Where?"

"On the Moon. That's why I wanted you there; you've had more experience with the Sirians than anyone in the Council. They need your expertise."

"Great Galaxy," Bigman mumbled. "Sirians! But I thought we'd defeated them; they'd left the system!"

"As did we," Conway concurred. "And there are no signs of them trying to establish a base like the one they built on Ganymede. We've also done a search for robot spies, using the detection methods we developed when they tried that trick last time, and we've found nothing. Just this one ship."

"One ship…" Lucky's lips tightened. He looked paler than usual, Bigman thought. They shouldn't have stayed in space so long; neither of them had been getting any sun, and they’d been eating nothing but low-quality yeast. Now they weren't getting enough sleep either. Bigman sighed.

"Listen," he told Lucky and Conway, "if neither of you mind, I'm going to get this clown-suit off, and wash the dust off me.

“Go right ahead. This won’t take long.” Lucky waved a hand over his shoulder, not turning, and Conway nodded. Then Lucky and the man on screen exchanged glances, and the mood changed, subtly. Bigman pretended not to notice, and stepped into the bathroom, closing the door a little too loudly behind him.

* * *

Bigman loved water. The fact that you could turn a dial, push some buttons, and have it flow out over you was as close to a miracle as you could get, for someone who had grown up in a place where every precious drop was recycled, and “wrung until the last drop shed its last drop,” as the saying went. He had yet to get used to showers on Earth, where you could adjust the water until it pushed at you like a force-beam, making you gasp for breath… it was more than a little overwhelming. On the Moon, however, water was still sparse, and the showers, while luxurious by Martian standards, were gentle, easily controlled things. Right now, Bigman rather liked having something around that was easy to control.

The walls were well insulated, so Bigman did not restrict his voice when the water hit him, and he burst into song. Developing a good set of lungs was a useful survival skill for a farmboy, with all the time they spent in the Martian desert, and Bigman was no exception. He had soon found that big lungs meant massive volume too, and Bigman liked things that were loud and massive. Belting out a song or three in the shower always made him feel better, no matter how hard a day he had, and Bigman had been through far worse days than this one. As the notes left his mouth, so did his worries seem to from his head, and by the time the water-timer shut him off, he felt ready to face the world again, at the very least for the few short moments until he could crawl into bed. Back on the farm, on a night like this, he would have enjoyed other activities before bed, but, well… times were different now, and these things had become more complicated.

Stepping out of the cubicle, Bigman paused, his hand half-way to the towel-rack. The voices in the outer room were louder than they should be, considering the thickness of the walls. As he wrapped the towel around himself, forgetting, what with everything, to dry himself properly, he listened, keenly. Lucky’s voice was the loudest, sounding angry, adamant, but weary. Conway’s droned on in the background; not louder than Lucky’s, but relentless, going on and on. Opening the door a fraction of an inch, so they could hear him, Bigman coughed, loudly, using every bit of his Mars-trained lungs. When he stepped into the outer room, Lucky had broken the connection, just a little too late for Bigman to avoid seeing Conway’s angry face.

Bigman smiled as Lucky turned towards him. “Well, I’m off to bed,” he said, pleasantly.

Lucky didn’t answer. His dark brown eyes avoided Bigman’s face, but they still looked in his direction, seeming to slip further down… “You’re wet,” he said, tonelessly.

“I reckon I am,” Bigman replied, evenly. He didn’t know where this was going, and he was not about to rush it. “You know me; always in a hurry.” Oh, sands of Mars! He cursed himself, internally.

Lucky nodded. “Yes.” Walking past him to the bathroom, Lucky ran a hand absent-mindedly across Bigman’s shoulder. “I know you far too well, my friend.”

Flinging the towel into a corner, Bigman fell onto his bed, and started beating the pillows into angry submission.


	4. UNWELCOME VISITORS

Bigman couldn't sleep. The bed was too big and soft; the room was too quiet, not humming with the underlying thrum of engine noise, and Lucky was too far away for Bigman to 'hear' his breathing through the hull. Well, there wasn't any hull at all, was there? He chuckled to himself in the dark - he would have to remember this the next time he was on the Shooter, complaining about lack of space. 

The fact that he couldn't tell if Lucky were awake or not was a bit of a bummer. Normally, when he couldn't sleep, Bigman would listen to the sound of Lucky's breathing, and the way he moved, and could easily tell if his friend was tossing and turning, or sleeping soundly. Now, there was no sign of anything. Bigman contemplated just whispering across the room, but he didn't want to wake Lucky if he were living up to his name, and actually getting some well-deserved sleep. Still, he was going crazy just lying here like this, even though it was partly his own fault, he supposed. He was too geared up, that was the problem. Bigman knew of two ways to release tension when he got this way - one of them was fighting, and the other couldn't be discussed in polite company, and he hadn't gotten any of that for as long... well, for as long as he'd been with Lucky. 

It was complicated. Bigman didn't like it, but he figured Lucky had his own reasons for what he did and didn't do, and they weren't Bigman's business, any of them. And if staying with him meant there'd be no more workouts under the sheets, well, Bigman would just have to pick a few more fights now and then, that was all. Besides, there were other things he could do in the shower apart from singing. 

A soft sigh drifted in from the other side of the room, and Bigman froze, listening carefully. There was the faint sound of rustling sheets; a moving body; restlessness. Bigman grinned to himself, and swiftly slipped out underneath his covers, landing with his naked feet flat on the gently heated floor. In a few quick steps, he was by Lucky's bed, carefully crawling onto it. Being somewhat lesser in stature than his friend, he fit neatly sitting on his knees on the edge of the mattress. Lucky had to know he was there, but he didn't so much as stir, not even when Bigman reached out with a steady hand to grasp his arm, gently. Eventually, however, he spoke. 

"Go back to bed, Bigman."

"I am in bed," Bigman replied, stubbornly. Lucky snorted a laugh at that, and Bigman declared a small victory. "Anyway; why aren't you asleep yourself?"

Lucky sighed. "It's been a long day. Too much on my mind." He did shift then, the back of his thighs making contact with Bigman's knees. He made a little noise in the back of his throat, and pulled away, quickly. 

Bigman noticed, and stroked his hand down Lucky's arm, softly. "You know..." he began, but Lucky cut him off. 

"Yes, I know. Go back to bed - your own bed!" He said it too harsh; too quickly, and Bigman remained. 

"How come it's gotta be like this, huh, Lucky?" Lucky didn't shake him off, so Bigman kept his hand where it was, stroking up and down, feeling the very tense muscles in Lucky's arm refusing to relax. "Remember when the Sirians had us, and they wouldn't let me see you?" Lucky grunted, his muscles tensing even further. "I swear, Lucky, that was the worst time of my life. Knowing you were close by, just in the next ship, and not being able to go to you - it drove me up the wall, you know?"

Lucky exhaled deeply. "I know."

"When they pulled me away from you at that meeting... I would have bit their arms, I swear!"

"All things considered, I'm glad you didn't." Lucky was smiling now, his body slowly, so it seemed, getting used to Bigman's presence. 

"And when it was all over, and they were taking us home - Lucky, do you remember? You practically grabbed me by the arm and pulled me half-way across the ship 'til we got to your quarters, and the moment that door shut, you hugged me so tightly I couldn't even feel myself breathing. But that's all you did; you just held me, and I've never asked why. I'm not asking now, either, but I can give you an offer." 

"Bigman..." Lucky's arm was shaking now; the smile was gone, his lips tightening, and his fist was tangling in the sheets. "Please, just leave it. I'll..."

"Don't you tell me you'll be fine in the morning," Bigman snapped. "Sands of Mars, Lucky, there's no shame in it! Men seek out other men when they're lonely; that's just nature." Some even stayed together for life, he thought to himself, and wasn't that what they were doing? "Do you think I'm some rosy-cheeked innocent; is that it? Lucky - we slept two men to a bunk on some farms; do you think we all just lay around telling each other bedtime stories? And I know what year you were born; same as me, just seven months later. I'm not some kid you have to protect. So..." he spread his arms wide, letting his hands fall to his own thighs afterwards, seeing as though Lucky didn't seem to appreciate the touch of them, "I'm here," he ended, lamely. 

Lucky turned his head, and lay there very still for a good long while, just watching him. Then he took Bigman's hand in his own, and his dark-brown eyes shone with some emotion Bigman couldn't quite catch. "Don't think I don't appreciate it," he said, so quietly it was almost a whisper, "but I... want more than that. More than I ask of any man. Do you understand?" 

Bigman swallowed. He knew well enough when Lucky was serious, and when he was just screwing around, and this... this was as serious as Bigman had ever seen him. And it made sense too, didn't it? "Sure, old pal," he mumbled, squeezing Lucky's hand. "Sure I get it." 

Lucky wanted a woman. Nothing wrong with that. There were men who didn't care for the touch of other men, and Bigman had always felt sorry for them. Most gave in anyway, when the days got long and dreary, and the nights too lonely, but they never enjoyed it as well as they could, and many of them resented it. Some turned to violence when they couldn't satisfy themselves, blaming the other fellow, like it was his fault, somehow. But Lucky... Lucky would never do anything like that, and this was his way of explaining. The desperation in his eyes cut into Bigman's heart, deep, but he knew how to put on a brave face. 

"Let's you and me get some sleep, now," he smiled, letting go of Lucky's hand. Blinking, a certain something changing in his face, Lucky nodded. And so, Bigman trekked back to his own bed, across the room that was entirely too big for comfort.

* * *

A shuttle was waiting for them outside the hotel in the morning, pre-programmed to take them to the Science Council headquarters. Bigman had not slept a wink, and Lucky didn't look much better where he sat, chewing a fingernail distractedly. They spent the ten-minute ride in silence, each man avoiding the eyes of the other. They had argued before, but whatever was between them now ran deeper than that, and they both felt it. However, when after a few minutes of driving Lucky took Bigman's hand in his, they both relaxed, a little. Apparently, life went on.

* * *

Ardrian Tender, the head of the Lunar Science Council, was waiting for them in his office, but he was not alone. A white-clad, olive-skinned man stood at Tender's side, his face a mask of barely-concealed irritation. "Councilman Star." Tender held out his hand, and Lucky shook it. "This is Miles Lao, head Councilman of Mars." 

"Is that so?" Bigman blurted out, before he could stop himself. He'd never seen the man before in his life. 

"Very much so," the man who was apparently Miles Lao said. "Since two Terran months ago, when Vern Haliday retired." 

Bigman eyed him skeptically, while Lucky hurriedly grasped Lao's hand. "How do you do, Councilman," he said, politely. Only Bigman noticed the underlying tone of 'don't screw this up' in his voice, aimed directly at him. 

"Councilman Lao is here to voice some concerns about our recent cultural project," Tender began, when Lao cut him off. 

"Concerns? Well, that's a fine way of putting it, Tender." 

"Councilman…" Tender warned, keeping his eyes on Lucky, along with a forced-friendly smile. 

"I will not be silenced," Lao exclaimed, instantly earning some extra credits worth of respect from Bigman. 

"This is hardly the time…"

"You mean, it would be inconvenient for the famous Lucky Starr to witness your poor judgment! Well, I can I'm not going to give you the satisfaction of hushing this up, Tender."

"What the Councilman is referring to," Tender said, visibly restrained, "is the fact that Mars has expressed an interest in having our ladies tour the colonies, rather than remaining here, as intended."

"I do not just represent the interests of Mars," Lao exclaimed; "I represent the joint interests of Mars, Venus, the Jovian system, Mercury…"

"Mercury!" Tender snorted. "By all the planets, Lao, what good would a troupe of zero-G dancers do on a scientific outpost?" He turned to Lucky. "Before you arrived, Councilman Lao even suggested that they be allowed to tour the asteroids!"

"As I'm sure Councilman Starr is aware," Lao retorted, calmly, "the men of the asteroids are now law-abiding citizens, co-operating with Earth's interests. Providing them with Terran entertainment from time to time would be a great investment in further, positive relations. As for Mercury, surely you realize, Councilman, that life on a research station is dull and repetitive, and the men who are isolated there often suffer from morale-problems. Now, what you have achieved here is a wonderful thing, which should not be hoarded – dare I say – greedily, but shared with all of mankind."

Throughout this exchange, Lucky merely observed the two men closely, his face impossible to read, even for Bigman. Now, he made a non-committal shrug. "And you, I take it, are not in favor of this suggestion, Councilman Tender?"

Tender gave a short, humorless laugh. "You most certainly may say so, Councilman Starr. The Dancers of the Moon are just that; they are a product of Lunar arts and culture; an entirely new art form, developed right here on the Moon. In short, they are ours, and here is where they belong."

"Yours!" Lao exclaimed. "An interesting choice of words. Out of seven dancers, how many are Moon-born? Not Lunar citizens, mind you; of good Lunar stock? Three, that's how many. Just three. The rest were born, raised and trained on Mars, Venus and Earth. All you did was import them less than half a Terran year ago, and train them in secret, so you could spring this surprise on an unsuspecting public." 

"Enough!" Tender's voice, as strong and imposing as the rest of the man – who stood taller even than Lucky, with broad shoulders, muscles bulging underneath his uniform, and a stern expression on his nearly ebony-skinned face – ended the tirade. "We have more important matters to discuss, Lao, and you know it." 

Subdued, yet still fuming, Lao stepped back, giving Tender the stage, as it were. Bigman kept his eyes on Lao. He could understand his annoyance – Bigman didn't like being kept out of the loop any more than he did – but his anger seemed a little out of proportion. There was more here than met the eye, he was certain. 

"Now." Tender straightened his jacket. "I understand Hector Conway contacted you last night, Starr, is that right?"

"Yes," said Lucky, evidently relieved that tempers had calmed, if only for the moment. "He told me you had made quite an interesting find." He glanced at Lao.

Noticing the gesture, Tender gave a quick laugh. "Oh, there are no secrets here, you should know that, Starr. Councilman Lao and I may not see eye to eye on certain subjects, but that does not mean I would not trust him with my life. You may speak freely."

Lucky nodded. "A Sirian ship," he said, quickly, clearly eager to get to the heart of the matter. "You found it two days ago."

Tender's dark features darkened further still. "Yes and no. We found it two days ago, but judging from the accumulation of dust and various debris, along with various other readings we took of the ship and the surrounding area, we were able to determine that it had been on the Lunar surface for five or six months."

This visibly shocked Lucky, though Bigman could not be sure that the other two noticed. "And you are absolutely certain that it is Sirian in origin?" Lucky asked, taking, as he usually did in times of great emotional upset, a step towards Bigman, seeking him out. 

Tender nodded, gravely. "Absolutely certain. There is technology in that ship that Earth has been trying to gain from Sirius for decades, but they've been guarding it fiercely, even from colony worlds with which they are on better terms. No, it has to be Sirian. The design could be faked, but the controls, the interior, even the food-rations, or what's left of them… it's all unmistakably Sirian." 

"So they're back," Lucky mumbled, lost in thought. He bit his lower lip, turning away from Tender. Bigman wanted to put a reassuring hand on his arm, but somehow it felt inappropriate. 

"Well," said Tender, looking uncomfortable, it's not so much a 'them' as a 'him'. It was a one-person ship. Our theory is that it is either a scouting ship that was forced to land due to lack of supplies – it was running low on everything, if the stocks we found it with were any indication – or…"

Lucky's face set, and he clenched his hands. "Or a spy."


	5. HOMOSEXUAL!

Over the space of the next few hours, Tender provided Lucky with all the information they had been able to gather about the supposedly Sirian ship. Though Tender kept insisting it could be nothing but, Bigman could tell that Lucky was not entirely convinced. Bigman wasn’t quite sure himself. Thoughts were gathering, coalescing at the back of his mind – he didn’t quite have a theory yet, but it was the start of something that might become a theory. He would bide his time, he thought, observe, and listen, like Lucky always did. He understood the gravity of the situation they were in, and was not about to jump the gun this time. 

Unfortunately, the information didn't amount to anything much. Everything about the ship indicated that it was Sirian in origin, had been on the Moon for at least six months, if not more, and that there were no traces of the pilot, save for a discarded overall, which had recently been found, and was still being analyzed for traces of DNA. The ship's computer was dead, as were all auxiliary ship systems, and even the smaller sub-systems on individual suits, and in the unused escape pod. The Council could only speculate that some sort of emergency procedure had been set in motion to prevent any sort of information from falling into enemy hands. 

Lucky scanned the readouts Tender had handed him, and rubbed his chin. "This is incredibly thorough," he mumbled. "The pilot may have made the ultimate sacrifice." 

Tender raised an eyebrow. "Killed himself, you mean?"

"I've seen it happen," Lucky said, grimly. Bigman took a step closer, peeking at the readouts. The terms and numbers meant very little to him, but he recognized some of them from the lab-reports Lucky often mused over when they were on Earth. 

"Did that man take his clothes off first, and vanish without a trace?" Tender snorted. "No. Mark my words, Starr, there is a Sirian somewhere on the Moon, and I'll bet you he's right under our noses, laughing at the fact that we can't find him."

Tender's words stirred something in Bigman. It was as though the pieces to the puzzle were trying to seek one another out in his head. He scratched his nose, distractedly, glancing at Lucky to see if the same reaction was evident in him. Lucky, however, seemed a million AU's away, tapping his fingers against the printout, and frowning. 

Lao had been quiet for a while, leaning sullenly against the wall, and contributing little to the conversation. Now it seemed his patience had come to an end. "And while we stand here like fools, what becomes of the miscreant who nearly killed a stage full of women? Or are we forgetting that?"

Tender looked up from his own set of printouts, shooting Lao an annoyed glare. "While I realize you have a vested personal interest in that case, Lao, the universe does not stop because of an attempted murder, however deplorable. The Lunar police are more than capable of handling that case on their own for the moment. The fact of the matter is that we are fortunate enough to have an authority on Sirians with us today," he gestured at Lucky, who smiled dismissively, "and we need to take advantage of that opportunity."

Lucky shook his head. "I'm afraid there's not much I can do to help you today, gentlemen." He dropped the printout down on Tender's desk with an air of defeat. "My knowledge of Sirius has been greatly exaggerated; it always is. I enjoyed their so-called hospitality for a number of days when I was their prisoner," he put a hand on Bigman's shoulder, "but so did Bigman, here.”

Bigman ignored him; he had other things on his mind. It was all coming together - the spy, the dancers, everything that had happened last night – it all pointed in one direction. “Councilman Tender,” Bigman said, quietly, I think Councilman Lao is right.” 

All eyes were suddenly on Bigman. Tender looked surprised, Lao shocked and a little angered, and Lucky curious, with a hint of worry. Lao spoke first. “Bigman – is that what you like people to call you?” His face was red, showing every sign of a man ready to pick a fight. Bigman knew that expression well enough; more often than not, he saw it in the mirror. 

“Yes, sir,” he replied, calmly. 

“Well then, Bigman, what makes you say I’m right, when these two esteemed Council members are so convinced that I am wrong?” 

Lucky’s eyes kept flashing back and forth between Lao and Bigman, as if trying to keep them both under close surveillance at once. Well, he didn’t need to worry this time, Bigman thought. “Because I think you’ve looked at the facts, and you’ve noticed what I’ve noticed. You’re thinking what I’m thinking, Councilman Lao, and what I’m thinking is that these two cases are connected.”

“Connected?” Tender frowned, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Bigman hadn’t thought people did that outside of bookfilms. Maybe he’d used to have a beard, and wasn’t quite used to it not being there anymore. 

“That’s right.” Bigman looked to Lucky for any sign of support, but his friend was unreadable as always, watching him steadily. Bigman cleared his throat, and continued. “Now, last night, at the theater, I noticed something odd, but I didn’t think much of it.” He turned towards Tender again, pointing a finger, remembering, too late, Lucky’s lectures on the impoliteness of the gesture. He let his hand fall, lamely. “Councilman Tender, did you say that ship has been here for six months?”

“Yes,” Tender replied, evenly, “that is so.” 

“All right; then consider this: The dancers arrived, most of them, anyway, just about at the same time this ship did.”

Looking impatient, Lao raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“Well now, that’s something of a coincidence now, isn’t it? Which made me think.” Bigman pointed at his own head, tapping his finger against his skull. Surely that wouldn’t be considered rude. “See, when I first saw that tall, brunette dancer – the one that took a tumble – I was convinced it was a man.”

Lao and Tender exchanged an odd sort of glance, and Lucky’s cheek seemed to be twitching, but Bigman ignored it all. He was on a roll, now! 

“I’m sure a lot of people did – that’s the whole idea, isn’t it? Catching us by surprise, making us disbelieve what we’re seeing? But I tell you something, Councilmen; I don’t know how hard it is to make a woman look like a man, but I know it’s easily done to make a man look like a woman. Late nights on a secluded Martian farm, we farmboys have to make our own entertainment.” Bigman looked up to see Lao staring him straight in the eye. 

“And what, Bigman, is all that supposed to mean? Just what are you suggesting?”

Bigman shrugged. “Only that I was right the first time. If you were a spy, where would you hide? Now, me, I’d hide in the last place anyone would even think to consider I would be. In a troupe of female dancers.”

“Those girls…” Lao began, his face, by now, nearly purple in hue, but Bigman interrupted him. 

“That’s just it – one of them’s not a girl. That pretty brunette? She’s no she at all – she’s a man!”

Lao was fast, Bigman gave him that. It took Bigman nearly a second to even realize he’d been hit, and then it was only because he was lying on his back on the floor with his jaw hurting. He blinked, and looked up to where a raging Lao was being held back by Lucky and Tender, both of them visibly struggling. 

“You insolent little turd,” he wheezed. “How dare you! How dare you!!”

* * *

The silence in the hospital hallway was as noticeable as a fart on a two-man craft. Bigman kept stealing glances at Lucky where he was sat next to Bigman on the bench. He cringed. He’d really blown it this time, and he knew it. “I didn’t know, did I?” He protested, more out of habit than anything else. 

“It’s a matter of basic tact, Bigman,” Lucky muttered, not looking at him. “You don’t suggest that a man has romantic feelings for another man.” The sound of his voice almost scared Bigman; it was cold, bitter. 

“But I couldn’t have known she was his fiancée! I’d’ve never said it otherwise, Lucky, you know that!” 

White-coated people walked past them where they sat. Bigman counted twenty of them before he heard Lucky exhale noisily. “I know, my friend. I know.” He stood up, abruptly. “Come on. Let’s see if the young lady is awake enough to answer our questions.”

The words were cheery, but Lucky’s voice sounded hollow. His lips tight, Bigman nodded, and rose to join him. Thus far, he thought, grudgingly, this was turning out to be one lousy vacation.


	6. BIGMAN'S BIG DATE

Even in sleep, Dahlia Vincent looked like something not of this universe, Bigman thought. She was certainly not of _his_ universe; the people in it did not tend to have breasts. Dahlia's were modest enough, barely visible underneath the hospital bed's blankets, but they were _there_ , and Bigman found his eyes drawn to them time and time again. He wondered what it would feel like to hold such an orb in each hand; were they like muscles? Hard, just barely yielding? Or as one boasting friend had once told him, like an over-stuffed foam pillow, soft and inviting? Too late, he saw that Lucky had noticed him staring, the corners of his mouth quirking slightly. Immediately, Bigman looked away, looking instead at the seascape in the virtual window with intent. As he did so, Dahlia's voice sounded, heavy with sleep. 

"Why, if it isn't the famous Lucky Starr." Her voice was deeper than Bigman had expected; mellow and calm. Comfortable. The sort of voice you wouldn't mind whispering in your ear as you fell asleep. He frowned, watching fake waves crash against the fake shore. Why was he thinking these things? Women were just… men with different parts, weren't they? They shouldn't make you feel all distracted and weird.

"Ms. Vincent," Lucky replied. Not a hint of nervousness in his voice, Bigman noticed. Vague stirrings of distraction had given way, now, to an odd sort of churning in the pit of his stomach. He didn't like the way Lucky was chatting with her so easily. Shouldn't he be more ill-at-ease around women, what with liking them so much? 

"And you," feeling her eyes on him, Bigman turned, "must be Mr. Jones. 'Bigman,' is that what they call you?"

"If I have any say about it, ma'am," Bigman mumbled. 

Dahlia laughed, and Lucky and Bigman exchanged confused glances. "Oh," she tittered, "you mustn't mind me. It's just all so very silly. Miles told me what happened," she tapped the bejeweled ear-phone in her right ear with a slender index finger, "and I'm most awfully sorry. He has quite a bit of a temper, I'm afraid." She smiled at Bigman. "There's no way you could have possibly known." 

With those intensely blue eyes on him, Bigman found himself unable to reply. Thankfully, Lucky stepped in. 

"I understand congratulations are in order. You and Councilman Lao…"

"Yes, indeed." Dahlia smiled, brightly. She had a way with smiles, Bigman noticed. "In about a month or so, if all goes well, I shall be Mrs. Miles Lao. That's why he's so keen on allowing us to travel, you know. It wouldn't do either of us any good with me being stuck on Luna, and him on Mars. Chief Councilmen don't have a lot of time for leisure travel, as I'm sure you're both aware."

Lucky nodded. "How long have you know Councilman Lao?"

Dahlia laughed again. It was a slightly unnerving sound; so very different from that of a man. "Don't tell me you're still questioning my sex, Councilman Starr?" 

The look on Lucky's face was so alien that it took Bigman a good few seconds to realize that it was embarrassment. "I... didn't mean to presume..."

"Of course you didn't. Oh, don't look so mortified. If you want proof that my body is female down to genetic level, I would be happy to provide you access to the results of the myriad tests that have been performed on me since I arrived here." There was the tiniest hint of a tightening around her lips. Bigman had a hunch about what was annoying her. From what he'd been told, all that was wrong with her was a broken ankle; a simple injury, healed within minutes, yet they had kept her overnight. But, well, you couldn't take any chances with women, could you? "Anyway, you needn't worry about hurting my feelings. I'm well aware of the fact that I don't look terribly feminine." 

Both Lucky and Bigman erupted into protest, egged on by some deep-seated social norm drilled into them from early childhood. One _compliments_ a woman; one does not _insult_ her! Dahlia waved them away. 

"So you're from Earth?" The question, stupid as it was, slipped out before Bigman could think twice about it. The look on his face must have been ridiculous, but Dahlia merely turned towards him, politely. 

"Yes, I am." She paused, briefly, as though trying to remember something, or perhaps debating whether or not to take them into her confidence. "You know, if a woman wants to get off her planet, there's usually just one way to go about it."

"Marriage," Lucky said, evenly. 

Dahlia nodded, her eyes studying him with apparent curiosity. "That's what they like to call it, yes. A dozen or so women and girls, crammed into a rocket and sent wherever the need is greatest - if you think they've any say in where they get to go, I'm sorry to shatter your illusions."

Lucky's face had gone quite rigid, the way Bigman sometimes saw it go when he was being disagreed with. "There's no force involved, surely."

"Well, no, of course not," Dahlia said, hurriedly. "And the program has no lack of volunteers. My point is, there isn't a wealth of options available. When I was chosen for this project, I couldn't believe my luck. That's such a tired phrase, but it was true. I may not look it, gentlemen, but I'm rapidly heading past my prime. Dancers don't have very long careers, you see. But they needed my skills as a choreographer, and here I am.”

“Not wishing to be rude, ma’am-”

“Oh, don’t worry; I know you have to press on with your questions. Go right ahead; words will never hurt me, as the saying goes.” 

Looking relieved, Lucky went back to his question routine, by now boringly familiar to Bigman, who’d sat through far too many of them the night before. Dahlia seemed a nice sort of person, just like any guy, really. An odd thought, that a woman could be a friend. They were always something to someone; a wife, a mother, a fiancée, a daughter, but now that Bigman thought about it, he’d never heard of a man and woman being friends. That seemed an awful shame, to his mind, but what did he know?

Once they were all done and Lucky had given his thanks with unusual politeness, even for him, they stepped back out into the corridor. Worried he was still sore about earlier, Bigman gave Lucky a cautious glace, and was surprised to see his friend grinning from ear to ear. “Bigman,” he said, “I have an important mission for you.”

“You have?” What a relief; part of Bigman had been afraid he’d be sent back to the hotel, like some misbehaving child, grounded for the rest of their stay. He should have known better; Lucky wasn’t a man to hold a grudge. 

“Absolutely. I need you to gather some intel.”

“Sure thing, Lucky. Where from?”

“Not where – whom. I saw you chatting to one of the dancers – the little redhead.”

“Kaya,” Bigman said. She hadn’t been very nice, but he could do her the courtesy of remembering her name.

“You got to know her that well? Even better.” 

“What’s this about?”

“I’m not sure these ladies are telling us the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I’d like you try and find out what they’re hiding.”

“Me?” Bigman balked. “But how? I don’t know how to talk to women, Lucky. You know that.”

Lucky, still grinning – and that grin was starting to get on Bigman’s nerves – shook his head. “I’m not sure that’s true. I saw the way that girl-”

“Kaya,” Bigman said again. He was starting to wonder if Lucky was forgetting her name on purpose. 

“Yes. I saw the way she looked at you. It was only for a moment, but you had her charmed.”

Was this some sort of joke? Lucky calling _him_ a charmer? “I dunno, Lucky. Don’t you think you ought to do it yourself?”

“Absolutely out of the question,” Lucky said, with firm conviction. “If I approach any of them, they’ll just see it as part of the investigation. If you do, they’ll just see it as a social invitation.”

“An invitation? To what?”

“Oh, Bigman, you dunderhead – an invitation to a date, of course!”

* * *

A date. An actual _date_. Never in his life had Bigman imagined he’d be going on one. Sure, there had been times when he’d hoped, one day, he’d get a chance to meet one of the girls they shipped up to the farms regularly, but that was all firmly regulated and set up, with the immigration office overseeing all meetings until a formal arrangement was made. On Earth, sure, people dated, and got engaged and married, just like Lucky would one day, but that was a world so far removed from his own reality that Bigman had never so much as contemplated what it might be like. Lucky had suggested dinner, which didn’t sound all that bad – after all, Bigman went out to eat with Lucky all the time, and that was rather enjoyable, so long as it wasn’t too fancy a restaurant. Arriving at the Usagi Sakura, however, what little hope he’d held out for an informal meal was quite firmly crushed. 

He had arranged to meet Kaya there, which had, at least, given him some time in which to compose himself on the ride over. She stood at the steel and crystal doorway, waving cheerfully. Bigman took a deep breath, and hurried up the steps towards her. He’d chosen his own outfit, that much he’d insisted on, and Lucky had made no protest. Somehow, just having his favorite teal and scarlet stripes on made him feel a bit more on top of things. Kaya saw him approach and made some discrete adjustments to a bracelet on her arm, shifting the color of her knee-length dress to something less blue and more green. 

“Bigman,” she smiled and extended her hand. “You don’t mind if I call you that?” 

“I prefer it, actually,” he replied, unsure if he was being entirely truthful. He shook her hand and while her smile didn’t falter at her lips, it did at her eyes, a little. Well, how in space was he supposed to know what to do? Cursing Lucky under his breath, Bigman opened the door for her and hoped he didn’t make too many goofs in escorting her to their table. 

One struck of luck: The restaurant being what it was meant everything was arranged for them, with no need for either Bigman or Kaya to do much of anything, other than eat and talk. The former was no problem, even if the dishes were unfamiliar and for some reason seemed to mostly consist of raw or half-cooked fish. The latter, however, was where it all fell down. 

“It was so lovely of you to ask me out,” Kaya twittered while a waiter poured their wine. 

Bigman shrugged. “It was no trouble.” 

Kaya giggled. “You know, you talk rather funny. Is that a Martian thing?”

“What’s so funny about it?”

“It’s just different, I suppose.” She smiled, and reached out to touch his hand. “You’re different.”

Bigman looked down at the table. Her fingers were longer than his, but his palm was broader. He had to admit, there was a nice fit there. “I know that, sure enough. I’ve been different all my life. There’s nothing wrong with it.”

“I didn’t say there was.” 

They sat in awkward silence until the first course arrived, and then there was the eating of it, thankfully. She seemed to like to eat, and there was that to like about her. And she hadn’t made any more quips about his size. Bigman was beginning to warm to this girl. If only he knew how what to say to her! 

There was plenty of wine, at least, even if it was the soft, feeble kind that was so inexplicably popular on Earth, and they kept refilling their glasses with it. Bigman wasn’t sure if that was all included in the cost, but he figured, if it wasn’t, nuts to it. Lucky owed him that much. 

“You’re awfully quiet,” Kaya said, when their glasses had been filled for what had to be the third time. “Is it me, or are you like this with all the girls you date?”

Bigman started, and looked up, barely remembering to swallow his wine. “I’ve never really been on a date.”

Kaya’s eyes bulged in astonishment. “Really?”

“Not much opportunity for it on Mars.”

“But you live on Earth. You work for the Council of Science.”

Bigman didn’t know what to say. Sure, those things were true, for a given value thereof, but… how could he possibly explain? Him and Lucky… the whole thing of it. “Never got around to it,” he muttered. 

“That’s a shame. You should make some time; it’s good fun.”

“Do you go on dates a lot?” Shouldn’t he feel jealous? He didn’t. Just mildly curious. 

“Sure, all the time, back on Earth.”

“You’re from Earth too?”

She swirled her drink, tilting an eyebrow. It was drawn in with some sort of glitter, and had an added swirl at each end. “What do you mean, too?”

“Dahlia Vincent is from Earth.” 

Kaya waved her hand dismissively. “Well, sure she is. Not many women are originally from the colonies, you know. I think Sara was born on Mars, and Dilani on Venus, but the rest of us are all Earthborn, no matter what we may be calling ourselves.” 

Bigman nodded, slowly. That made Councilman Lao’s complaint a lot clearer – it wasn’t just a matter of Luna upstaging the other colonies, but of _Earth and Luna_ upstaging them. For Mars, in particular, it had to be a sore point that they were slipping ground again just as they were starting to gain some cultural momentum. Meanwhile, Luna was desperate not to lose its tourist business. This was a more serious matter than he’d realized. “Say,” he asked, picking up one of those little soft rice-balls covered in seaweed, “do you see a lot of Miles Lao? I know he’s engaged to Ms. Vincent.” 

“Oh sure.” Kaya rolled her eyes. “Miles means well, I’m sure, but he’s always trying to ingratiate himself and convince us we need to tour. Like he knows what’s best for us, you know? I suppose, when they’re married, he’ll own part of Dahlia’s share in the company, and he’ll have more say in the matter.”

“Could he force it?”

Kaya shook her head. “No, we all own equal shares. But he’d make life difficult for us if we didn’t agree to his way of running things, and I suppose if Dahlia voted with him, he’d effectively own the lion’s share. It’s a terrible thing to say, but sometimes I wish Dahlia wouldn’t marry him.”

Bigman chewed thoughtfully. He felt more than a little out of his depth, here. Granted, he was no expert, but it seemed to him that you shouldn’t be talking about other people’s relationships while on a date. Except, he reminded himself, it wasn’t really a date – he was helping Lucky. He swallowed the mouthful along with his hesitation, and asked if Kaya would like some more wine.

* * *

The bellboy cheerfully showed Bigman all the way up to the room, his cheer subduing somewhat when Bigman didn’t give a tip. He felt bad about that, but the meal had cost more than he’d anticipated, and he’d been proud enough not to ask Lucky for money in advance. It had been a decent enough night, a little less awkward as it and the various bottles of drink wore on. They’d ended up taking coffee in the nearby salon – too mild and too milky for Bigman’s tastes, but it had come with a nice, deep blue sort of liqueur that had a bit of kick to it. All of the above had conspired to make Bigman as close to drunk as he had been since he’d met Lucky, and somewhat to his surprise, he’d found he really enjoyed Kaya’s company. He might not have much to compare it to, but she was sweet and honest, and appreciated a good joke, and those were things Bigman appreciated in a man. Or, well, a woman. 

He’d even gotten to touch her breasts, quickly and over her dress while they shared a quick good-night kiss. It had been pleasant enough and she’d liked it a lot, judging by the little happy sounds she’d made. It was something of a comfort to realize that _those_ were the same for men and women both. They were nothing at all like over-stuffed pillows, though. They were like breasts. 

Swaying gently, Bigman leaned against the corridor just by the door, trying to get his bearings before barging in. He didn’t think Lucky would mind him being drunk, but something about it all made him nervous, far more nervous than he’d been at the restaurant. 

There were voices inside the room. Tensing, Bigman felt around in the tops of his boots for his knife, then remembered that he’d left it on the ship, at Lucky’s insistence. Sands of Mars! Lucky was in trouble, and here he was, unable to defend himself, much less help! Maybe he could at least create a distraction, help Lucky catch whomever it was off guard. He was about to throw the door open when he recognized the calm, if slightly irritated voice of Hector Conway. 

Bigman froze. He couldn’t make out what either man was saying, but it was clear that they were having an argument, and an even tenser one than they’d had the other night. Lucky barely got a word in edgewise here and there before Conway was back, droning away insistently. Bigman caught a phrase here and there - _unacceptable in the long term, responsible for more than your own actions, honor of the Council of Science_. It didn’t make much sense; Lucky was the pride of the Council, why would Conway be nagging him to live up to its ideals? Maybe he was angry about someone else? Someone they both knew who didn’t… who wasn’t… 

Bigman clenched his fists. He should have known. He should have realized. That’s why Lucky had been so off lately. No wonder he didn’t want to fool around with him; he was making Lucky look bad. _Responsible for more than your own actions_ , indeed. Well, never let it be said that John Bigman Jones wasn’t an honorable man. As soon as this trip was over, he’d tell Lucky that he missed Mars; that he wanted to go back. Settle down, start a family. Maybe they’d even be able to wrangle a license for him, so he could have one. 

Quietly, he waited until the voices died down, then stepped inside, putting on a drunken smile. No, never let it be said that John Bigman Jones wouldn’t do the right thing.


	7. Science Has the Answer

“You were awfully quiet last night,” Lucky told him over breakfast. They ate in their room, as they both preferred, and Bigman was feeling all the better for a few rashers of soy bacon and proper eggs in him.

“I just had a bit too much to drink. I won’t make a habit of it.”

“I know you won’t.” Lucky stole a piece of egg from Bigman’s plate, and Bigman snatched it back.

“Hey!”

“That’s what drink-addled reflexes will get you,” Lucky grinned.

“All right, all right.” It was easy – almost tempting – to forget what he’d heard; forget Conway’s condemnation, forget that this would be one of their last breakfasts together. Well, nuts to that; dwelling on the negative wasn’t in Bigman’s nature. Deep down, he’d known this day would come. He’d just hoped it would be later rather than sooner. Grabbing for his coffee, he noticed that things had gotten awfully quiet, and that Lucky was staring expectantly at him.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“You never told me about your date. How did it go?”

“I told you plenty! About most of the women being from Earth, not the colonies, and Miles Lao gaining more control once he marries Dahlia. Remember?” Lucky hadn’t been drunk too, had he? It was sometimes hard to tell. He never really let loose, like other people. 

Lucky nodded. “Sure I remember. It certainly strengthens his motivations for wanting to keep the company here. Not that it tells us much about who might have sabotaged them. But that’s not what I asked.”

Bigman frowned. “What do you mean, then?”

“I was asking how you enjoyed your date.”

“What makes you so interested? Don’t you want to hear more about…” Slowly, realization dawned. “Aw, Lucky! You had the whole thing figured out already, didn’t you; you didn’t need for me to get information out of Kaya! You just needed me out of the way so you could investigate the Sirian spy case without me mucking it up.”

Lucky held up his hands. “Now, that’s not how it was…”

“That _is_ how it was, and that’s fine; you don’t have to explain. But Space, you could have just asked!”

“And if I had, you’d have stayed behind, would you?” Lucky’s honest brown eyes stared him down, and Bigman couldn’t meet them for long. He turned away and shook his head.

“Sands of Mars, no. And you know it, don’t you? You know me better than I know myself.” How was he supposed to take care of himself when Lucky was _making_ him do things without Bigman even noticing? Maybe the two of them parting ways would be better for both, in more ways than one.

Lucky put his fork down and pushed his plate away. “Come on, I didn’t mean it like that. I needed some time to myself, sure, but I also thought…” he faltered.

“What?”

“Well, here was a chance for you to spend some time with a nice young woman. I remembered what you said, back on the ship, about not having had the opportunity before, and I thought you deserved it.” 

Bigman deflated. “Oh.”

“You like women, don’t you?”

“Sure I do.” About as much as he liked men. What sort of a question was that to ask, anyway? It hadn’t been that big of a deal, but Lucky was watching him like a puppy eager for praise and Bigman couldn’t bear to let him down. “Thanks, Lucky. I’m sorry I snapped at you; that’s the drink talking. I didn’t think weak Terran wine could give you a headache this bad!”

That made Lucky laugh, which made Bigman laugh, and for a while, they could joke and eat together like normal. It was the best morning Bigman could have hoped for, so he wasn’t about to jinx it.

* * *

Once the privacy shield in their shuttle was down, Lucky gave Bigman an update on the Sirian spy case. There wasn't much to tell; Lucky had spoken to some major officials and prominent people in Lunar society, and nothing they said had lead him to believe they knew anything, or had been compromised in any way.

“You spoke to all those people in one day?” Bigman shook his head in wonder. “When you put it like that, I’m glad you didn’t bring me along.”

“I would have been glad for the company. I think you had a much better time of it.”

“No kidding! Was it all a waste?”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Lucky gave a quick glance out the window, as though anyone could see through the one-way screen. “You know, when Councilman Tender showed me the data from the Sirian ship, I couldn’t fight off the idea that something was amiss.”

Bigman nodded sagely. “Sure thing, Lucky. I could tell, just looking at you.” 

“Well, I had quite some time to look over everything again yesterday - every man I spoke to with a security clearance high enough to know about this so-called spy ship seemed to want to pick my brain about it - and it struck me just what was wrong with the picture.”

“What picture? They showed you quite a few pictures, and some holofilms too, from what I remember.”

“I’m speaking in general terms,” Lucky explained patiently. Bigman resisted the urge to glare at him. It was a nice day thus far, and who knew how many more of them they would have together. Best not to spoil it. “The craft itself; the dimensions, the placement of the controls… you know what those ships are like; they fit a person like a glove, or one of those boots of yours.” 

“Not half as comfortable!” 

“That’s the point; a man my size or even yours would never fit in there. The seat is too narrow in the shoulders, the buttons spaced so that you would have nowhere to comfortable rest your hands or fingers without accidentally touching them, unless…” 

“Unless?”

“Unless you had smaller hands and fingers.”

Bigman grunted and leaned back in his seat. “So? The pilot had tiny hands and fingers. Nothing wrong with that. I don’t see what size has to do with anything,” he added, testily. 

“So the pilot _can’t have been a Sirian_. You’ve seen them, Bigman.”

“Up close and personal.” Not something he enjoyed dwelling on overlong. 

“They’re not frail and delicate; they breed for strength and agility. It wasn’t just the hands and fingers; like I said, the dimensions were all wrong. Too narrow in the waist and chest, the neck supports too close together.” Lucky fixed him with a stare. “I asked for an analysis of the DNA they found on that overall.” 

“Hadn’t they done one already?”

“They didn’t think it worth the bother; we don’t have any registers on Sirian DNA. Of course, that assumed the DNA traces were Sirian.”

Bigman gulped as the reality of what Lucky was saying hit home. “And if they weren’t...” he muttered. “You’re right, Lucky; no man of Sirian stock could fit into that sort of contraption.”

“Possibly,” Lucky added as their car turned into the stately main street, heading down towards the resplendent Council of Science building, “no man at all.”

* * *

Lucky was whisked away the moment they entered the lobby, which suited Bigman fine. While he was anxious to hear the results, he knew enough about these scientist types to know there would be a lot of standing around and poking at bottles and talking in incomprehensible jargon until anything interesting would be said. Still, it was a little unnerving to be cast aside like a broken sand-skipper just like that. With as much dignity as he could muster, Bigman sat down in one of the elegant sythlon crescent sofas littering the room, and tried to look like he belonged. 

No sooner had he made himself comfortable than a man appeared from the direction of the front desk, discreetly holding a com-pad. 

“Mister Jones?” He asked, holding up the pad in line with Bigman’s face to confirm his retinidentity with the picture thereon. “There’s a call for you.” He handed over the pad without another word. Grunting, Bigman took it. When he saw the face on the screen, however, he didn’t quite know how to contort his own. 

“Kaya?” 

She smiled at him, widely and utterly at ease. Bigman was exceedingly jealous. “Sorry to call you in public, but you didn’t give me your personal number.” 

“I don’t have one,” he said, and she laughed. Was that funny? Why?

“I’m sorry,” she said, perhaps noticing his expression, “I didn’t mean to embarrass you; it’s just so unusual to find men like you these days.”

_Men like what,_ Bigman thought, but replied, “is there anything I can do for you?”

“I had a lovely time last night,” she said, rather pointedly. Oh, yes. He was forgetting his manners, wasn’t he?

“So did I. It was delightful to meet your acquaintance.” Bigman flushed a little, wondering if he’d hit quite the right note. “I mean, it was swell to get to know you and all.”

“It was swell to get to know you too, Bigman.” The screen practically glowed with her radiance, though Bigman supposed that was what screens normally did anyway. “This is when you ask if you can see me again sometime,” she said.

“Is it?” He wiped his hand on the top of his boot, absent-mindedly. 

“Unless you’d rather not?” 

Bigman was spared an answer when the screen began blinking furiously; another call coming in. Making hurried excuses, he flicked to the incoming signal. It was probably Lucky, he reasoned; they might be done in the lab already. He nearly dropped the pad when he saw Hector Conway’s face. 

“Bigman,” Conway wasted no time on pleasantries, “I should like a word with you in private.”


End file.
